


Au Pair

by jowellick



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Femslash, Lesbian Sex, Mild References to Dissociation, Rough Sex, Scissoring, femmeslash, well mild for this canon anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jowellick/pseuds/jowellick
Summary: It's less messy--Darlene's hair--while she is pretending to be a "babysitter."Does Joanna know that she's more than this?  Did Tyrell tell her?





	Au Pair

Darlene obeys fsociety's fearless leader when he gives an order. Even when that order involves babysitting.

She arrives at the Wellick residence shortly after nightfall. "Hey," she greets the man who answers the door. His suit and posture scream "bodyguard," or perhaps "henchman." Could be either. He stands aside, not bothering to introduce himself. Darlene doesn't ask his name.

Joanna is waiting at the kitchen table. She's wearing a long-sleeved cotton shirt with a subtle floral print. The fabric looks so soft, Darlene can practically feel the petals crush between her fingers. Joanna moves and her hair catches on the light behind her like a halo of fire, or else, Darlene thinks, like the LED around the power button on a CPU. Two blazing clear-blue eyes turn on and light up as if they were glowing glass. Blank. Illegible.

"Take care of her," Tyrell had said. His particular brand of grimace was always most tortured when he spoke her name. "She doesn't always know what she needs." Joanna explains that she's been up with the baby for the last few nights. She's going to take a nap, she says, then a shower, then she'll go out. "Okey dokey," Darlene affirms. The baby is strapped into one of those baby-holder seats that make it easy to carry. Darlene doesn't know what it's called--the seat thing, or the baby, for that matter. There's a very neat stack of bills nearby, totalling to her would-be sitter fee of $20/hour.

When Joanna goes upstairs, Darlene takes the kid and sits in the study. There are rules for this assignment. "No computer time" has been specified. Uncharacteristically, Darlene complies, feeling particularly surveilled in the decorous home. A clock ticks the minutes past. Tyrell Junior sleeps.

Darlene doesn't cope with boredom. She agitates. She agitates herself around the study. She agitates in the kitchen, grabbing an expensive soda from the fridge and earning a look from the unnamed henchman. He's remained downstairs, which gives her the impression that his task is to watch her--or possibly the baby--more than to guard Joanna's body. Darlene continues to agitate, proceeding to the study. Then, after checking on T-Junior, she agitates up the stairs. 

This trip is actually somewhat unconscious. Darlene catches herself midway on a tiny wall mirror, all wide raccoon-eyes and messy hair. It's less messy--her hair--while she is pretending to be a "babysitter." Does Joanna know that she's more than this? Did Tyrell tell her? 

Before she knows what she's doing, Darlene is at the top of the stairs and carrying on down the hall. The walls are some priceless eggshell pastel, greyed out with fresh night. Most of the doors are closed. Two are open; the further one gapes darkly. The nearer one stands halfway open and spills a greyish kind of light into the shadowy hall. It's soft. Like Joanna. Darlene pushes in.

There's a blue-tinged fluroescent light set deep in an inlay in the ceiling. A nightlight. It's vaguely reminiscent of an office or a hospital, but infinitely more elegant. The Swedish beauty rests on the bed, pale and still. Her eyes are closed but she still radiates. She sleeps with only a sheet to cover her. It's slipped down, exposing one breast. Her nipple looks pink and warm and yet, somehow, synthetic. Mechanical. Darlene is overcome with the desire to touch it. Understand it. Figure out the wiring.

She doesn't stir when her eyes open. Darlene's breath catches, whereupon she realizes she must have been breathing. She was breathing, and it must have been loud, because the room is silent as the inside of an ice-float. Darlene feels frozen by the sudden intense fixture of Joanna's eyes. She's _mortified._

"Is there a problem?" Joanna asks.

Darlene shakes her head awkwardly. _No._ Joanna doesn't ask why, then, she has mounted the stairs; instead she breathes, and says, "Do you like what you see?"

Finding her voice--and her attitude--Darlene answers. Honesty is power. "Yeah, kinda."

"You're supposed to be watching my child," Joanna says. "Not enjoying the view."

"I just checked on him."

She rolls over onto her back. "Check again." 

The conversation is over. Joanna has ended it. However.

"She doesn't always know what she needs," Tyrell had said.

Darlene crosses the room in two steps. She's barely aware of herself. It's more of an attack than she means it to be when she climbs in the bed. She's fast and athletic, if not graceful, and there's no struggle. Hands pin wrists. Thighs wrap around hipbones, bone against bone, somehow an impossible mess of white in the egyptian cotton. Darlene looks Joanna in the eye and sees the monster: the endless, bottomless want. It would enslave men and swallow the world. She wants the sea, the sun, the stars--she wants diamonds and blood and the moon. She will climb to the moon on a pile of bodies. 

"Leave," she says, so softly.

Darlene thinks of Ecorp, and of her mother. The blow lands like a car crash in a dream.

There's a moment of stillness. Joanna doesn't react to being hit but Darlene can see her body react. Excite. Harden. Shocked, Darlene doesn't know whether to run, apologize, or hit her again. She choses the third option.

 _Is this what its like for Elliot?_ she wonders. _Feeling hijacked? I feel...hacked. I'm not in control._ She's breathing hard, slipping in and out of herself. One of her hands is pushing up her skirt...touching herself...spreading Joanna's legs...penetrating. It's tight and hot and wet and Darlene is going to make it her own.

Joanna closes her eyes and opens her legs slightly. Permitting. She makes a breathy little sound of pleasure. Then she looks Darlene in the eyes. "Fuck me," she says.

Darlene rearranges her limbs and grabs Joanna by the hips to change her angle. It takes them a moment to fit together. When they do, the friction is perfect. Darlene finishes quickly and then climbs off, her whole cunt a mess of mutual wetness and pleasure. She pulls her skirt down to try and hide the smear down her thighs. It takes her much longer than Joanna to regain composure. While she neatens herself and catches her breath, the older woman stares vaguely off into the distance.

"So. Thanks," Darlene says, uncomfortably.

"You won't be paid for tonight," she replies.

Darlene is shocked. She has to suppress a snort. "Well, I don't really care much about money," she huffs. She turns to leave.

"You might be surprised to learn," Joanna says--still in bed, and from within the room that's returned to icy stillness--"that I don't, either." Darlene looks back and sees Joanna sitting up. A bruise is starting to form on her cheek. "Come back two weeks from now. Same time."

"Um, maybe," Darlene says. But she knows she will find herself here. She absolutely will.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: jo-wellick


End file.
